Music to Grow up by
by Fallen1
Summary: As people, or nations, grow up and learn more about themselves, they find that the ones that raised them aren't always willing to let them go.  Scotland has a problem with what's appropriate for his nephew Canada.  Canada thinks it's funny.


Based completely on a fight I had with my mom before I moved to Calgary from small town Manitoba. My head canon about the relationship between Scotland and my Canada is a strong family one. Scotland was probably more of a father to Canada, considering how many Scottish traditions we still practice. Also I'm a little biased, as I am a Davidson. Well I'm Welsh, both Irish(es?), Métis and British too…but I'm from

Manitoba and we don't brag about the last one…Lol sorry. Doesn't matter where I am in Canada I'll always end up sounding like a buffalo fucker. Now all I need is a Gapper to argue with and I'm set!

Matthew looked out the car window counting buildings as they flew by, barely paying attention to the swearing redhead beside him. Said swearing man was putting his foot a tad bit too hard on the petal of the vehicle and the knuckles on his hands, where he had a death grip on the steering wheel, had become a dead white colour. At one point, as Matthew would later tell the others, he swore his uncle's head had been poised to do a complete spin. Later he would chuckle about it (while Nova Scotia smacked him about the head), but that would be later. Much later. For now all Matt wanted to do was survive the drive back to his uncle's house just outside of Edinburgh. To talk now would serve no further purpose than to piss off the Scotsman further.

Soon the passing scenery turned from the crowed city streets to the rolling hills of his memories. It was nice to see them. So much of his world was always changing, but the hills and fields he spent his youth playing in had changed very little. Scotland was still a place of such familiarity and comfort to the younger nation that, even with his uncle bitching under his breath as he was, Matthew felt at home. Well home away from home. While he loved the moors and cliffs and the forgotten magic of his uncle's home, for him nothing beat the love he had for his own. Still this was as good as any place for the fight that was brewing.

"Of all the…the terrible…disgusting! Wha…? How? How did it com to this? Tell me how Mata? " Scotland was waving his hands around trying, without much success to figure out what was going through his nephew's head. What had happened to the little boy he remembers? Told stories to? To the boy he taught the old ways to? When the hell did he grow up? Who the hell told him he _could_ grow up?

Matthew watched his uncle passively for a bit before the muttering about his poor wee laddie grew annoying. Heaving a sigh he got up and, narrowly missing his uncle's swing hands, went over to the kitchen looking for the shortbread he knew was hiding somewhere in the hodgepodge mess that was the cabinet cupboards. He found them hiding behind a loaf of bread and took it upon himself to shove a couple in his mouth and pocket a few more before they where taken from him.

Scotland glared at the young man before him and snatched the container out of his hands.

"Matthew Duncan Williams" Canada's eyes got wide at the use of his full name, "what the _hell_ are you wearing and where the _hell_ did you hear the song?"

Mathew could do nothing but laugh.

As Matthew changed for bed, he took a long look at the shirt that had so offended his beloved uncle. A skull wearing a horned Viking helmet with the band name and motto. He chuckled again. Uncle would just have to live with the idea that he wasn't a little boy any more. Under his breath he start to rap.

"Last night I left the club with a porn star…"

The Swollen Members shirt was left with the laundry, right where Matt was sure it would be found. He would later tell his family that he just wanted his uncle to know he was a battle axe warrior, though the disbelieving looks and giggles he got from his provinces and territories let him know that they didn't believe his b.s.

Scotland told him over the phone, in no uncertain terms, that hell would have to freeze over and England would have to sexually harass France before he would ever see that shirt again.

Matthew wasn't about to say the only reason he had actually left the shirt there was because he had two of them.

Nor was he about to tell Scotland what happened after he got drunk and passed out at the parties France held.

He felt it was better this way.

(Plus he didn't want to relive the trauma…So much _hair_!)

And thus ends that. If you have any questions about the fic or anything in general please feel free to e-mail me!


End file.
